Hero
by asleet
Summary: An alternate ending to HP5 in which Dumbledore attempts to alter the past and rectify his haunting mistake, but at such a cost.
1. The Beginning

Alternate Ending--Harry Potter Book 5: The Order of the Pheonix  
  
Only Human  
  
Dumbledore stared at the door long after it had closed, and the sound of retreating footsteps echoed away in the distance. Harry was a good boy, Dumbledore knew. He was pure, and brave, and smart, but he was still a boy. A child. And children shouldn't have to go through this...any of this.  
  
He leaned back in his comfortable leather chair, the talk with Harry still fresh in his mind. Harry had so angry, so furious at himself, at the mistakes that he had made, and most of all, at how Voldemort so easily played him for the fool. His mind was crazed, and his heart torn apart. He needed time. Only time could heal such wounds. But Dumbledore had long since discovered that time didn't really heal—it only buried the event and covered it up with the debris of the present, but if one dug deep enough, it would be there--still fresh, still bleeding, still painful.

Dumbledore frowned as he felt something in his beard. It was wet. He had been crying. It had been ages since he had cried in front of someone. Tears, to most, were a sign of weakness, and at a time of such terror, weakness was death. He could not cry. The burden that rested on his shoulders needed to be carried, and carried without sign of strain or fatigue. Dumbledore was exhausted, but the amount of people that counted on him was enough for him to don the mask of strength that the people needed to see. The leader cannot be like the followers. I cannot be human, Dumbledore said silently.

"The boy is actually dead," said a flat voice from the walls. Dumbledore didn't turn.  
  
"He wasn't a boy, Phineas," he said quietly. No, he wasn't. In this war, there weren't children. Only soldiers.  
  
"The last heir to the great and noble house of Black...is dead?" Phineas whispered, almost as if he didn't believe it, and in a way, Dumbledore was sure he didn't.  
  
He didn't reply to the shocked realization. How many times had he heard the same, just different names each time. Too many; far too many. Was there no end?  
  
His office, usually filled with voices of teachers, ministers, students, and portraits, was, for one second, absolutely silent. Not even the occasional snoring from a picture, just solid, untainted silence. Then it was broken by a gurgle of voices as the masses of students headed to the Great Hall for breakfast, and the room was released from its voiceless prison. Another night was finished.  
  
But there was something...  
  
The scene crept from the back of his mind like ooze. Slowly, but surely, and unstoppable, it reached the front and played itself over and over again.  
--  
Harry was jerking, writhing, his eyes weren't his own. They were scarlet, with slits for pupils. And then, for the first time in so long, Dumbledore knew that he had failed. Voldemort had been so close to finished, but Dumbledore had missed him, and now he had Harry. Suddenly, something happened that Dumbledore knew he would picture every day for the rest of his life.  
  
The jaws that once belonged to Harry opened, much like opening a tomb, and out of its dark depths, came words spoken in a harsh, rash voice.  
  
"Kill me now, Dumbledore..."  
  
Dumbledore knew his wand was up, it was pointed at Harry. Harry--no, Voldemort--was begging for death. But to kill him would be to kill... His wand didn't tremble, and neither did he.  
  
"If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy..."  
  
This was his chance. The benefits far outweighed the losses. He could end a decade and half of terror tonight. Now. Kill Voldemort, he told himself. If Harry must die, he would die for a greater cause...

Still nothing happened.  
  
Dumbldore could almost feel Voldemort smiling, and Dumbledore felt the claws of despair consume him.

His enemy knew him. And that was death.

The Dark Lord knew that no matter how many evil wizards Dumbledore had vanquished, no matter how many awards he won, no matter how many lives he saved...he was only human. Voldemort knew Dumbledore's limits, and with that knowledge, he knew that Dumbledore could never, ever, defeat him, for Voldemort was not. Dumbledore wouldn't kill Harry, and so countless would die.  
  
It happened in a flash.

Voldemort appeared, grabbed Bellatrix Lestrange with one hand and disappeared, leaving the image of a swirling cloak burning in Dumbledore's head. Voldemort was gone.

And he had let him get away.  
  
The scene faded to grey...  
  
Then there was the sense of total agony, of knowing he could have saved countless lives that night, but didn't. He was only human, only human, only human...  
--  
"You all right, Dumbledore?"  
  
He jerked his head in surprise, and realized he had had his eyes closed and had been gripping the handrests of his chair rather hard. When he lifted them, he saw permanent imprints on the wood.  
  
"Something happened, didn't it?" Phineas said slowly. He had never been stupid. Hated and unpopular perhaps, but never stupid. "Did you stumble, Dumbledore? Did you fall?" The last 2 sentences were whispered.  
  
There was no reply.  
  
But he could have done it. He could have ended it. But his mind wouldn't let him rest. It played again.  
  
"Kill me now, Dumbledore..."  
  
He shook his head to clear himself of the picture, of the red eyes, of the voice.  
  
"If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy..."  
  
Stop it, he whispered to himself silently. Stop it now.  
  
"Kill the boy, kill the boy, kill the boy..."  
  
"NO!" Dumbledore shouted. There was another moment of silence in the room, and then Dumbledore realized what he had done.  
  
Every picture on the wall had their eyes locked onto him. Phineas's gaze was burning a hole into his chest.

"What did you do?"  
  
And then something happened.

Something in the mind of Dumbledore snapped. The supports that held up his psychosis, that controlled his logic, that let him do what he did...fell. Decades of watching people at his hands, for him, for what he believed, came together all of a sudden in a torrent of guilt. It was too much, even for him. And Dumbledore acted without thinking. He spoke.  
  
"Nothing that I can't fix."  
  
And with that, he reached inside his robes, and with a flourish, pulled out...a tiny hourglass. A time-turner. But not like the one the Ministery used. Not one that sent the person back in time, but one that was infinitely more powerful. This wouldn't rip you from the current time and place you in the past, tt would take the present person, and put one in the position they were in at the desired time. No duplicates. Just the power to change. And you could redo whatever you wanted, alter anything you desired. The world was yours for the taking with this. But the consequences of it were astronomical.  
  
"No, Dumbledore," Phineas shouted, along with the myriad other voices that screamed for him to be more rational. They knew what he was holding.  
  
"We both know the consequences of time travel," Arthur Vidinsk, a once decorated headmaster screamed. "You've read the reports, and so have I! In the past, you know what happened when people tried to divert a disaster. The strings of the future didn't tie into the strings of the past. Things went wrong. Years later, something wouldn't click together, people appeared out of nowhere, dead people came back to life. History would repeat itself! You can't risk it on something this big. Little things are dangerous, even with the standard time-turner, but the one you've got could destroy the world! Do you know how many people will be affected by this??"  
  
And then Dumbledore said something he had never said before. Not ever, not when he was a child, not when he was a rowdy teenager, and not when he grew old and gained wisdom.  
  
"I don't care."  
  
And with that, Dumbledore said something to the little charm necklace, and in a flash of power, he was gone.  
  
continued in Hero--Part two


	2. The End

Hero, Part from Part I...  
  
The world blurred, up became down, right went to left, and then there weren't directions anymore. Dumbledore wasn't sure he had a body, wasn't sure he was alive or dead. Ages passed, and years became decades became centuries became epochs. He watched the creation of the universe, and looked at far away solar systems. He rose up to the heavens, and flew to hell and back. He felt death claw at his body, and was reborn countless times. He traveled the universe at will, and forever and day passed in a split second.  
  
Then his feet hit hard ground.  
  
Harry screamed something. "Look out!!"  
  
Dumbledore turned swiftly, just in time to see Fawkes swoop down and swallow the curse that Voldemort had shot at him. He knew where he was. The basement at the Ministery of Magic. Harry, Voldemort, and him. That's all that mattered. He knew this.

And he also knew what he was going to do. Dumbledore raised his wand almost lazily, and the snake Voldemort had shot out of his wand was blown away, turning to floating ash. At the same time, the water in the pool rose up in a tidal wave with speed lightning couldn't match, and encased Voldemort whole. The reborn Dark Lord tried to struggle, but it was impossible, as Dumbledore knew that one evil as he could never throw off charmed water in the Ministery's own building. Dumbledore almost smiled. Then, with one last muffled yell, Voldemort was gone, and Harry was left.  
  
"MASTER!" Someone screamed. Oh yes, Bellatrix was still here. She thought Voldemort was gone...well, he wasn't, but he soon would be.  
  
Without looking at him, Dumbledore said "Stay where you are, Harry!" He didn't want to have to look at the boy now. Not now...  
  
And then a choking sound was issued from Harry's body, and Dumbledore turned. He could see that Harry was no longer there. It was the scene again, except this time, it was so much worse. Foam was rising at the corners of his mouth, his eyes were scarlet already, and looked more like Voldemort's than he remembered. He was gone.  
  
Then the voice sounded.  
  
"Kill me now, Dumbledore..."  
  
Dumbledore raised his wand, and held it steadily. It was here, and he would do what was necessary.  
  
"If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy..."  
  
Dumbledore looked at Harry, and truly saw him for the first time. This was an innocent. In his countless years of life, he had never once consciously sacrificed an innocent, for anything. Never...would he do it now?  
  
Suddenly, another voice erupted in his mind.  
  
**I KNEW YOU COULDN'T DO IT**, it seemed to scream at him. It was a voice he knew well. It was his own; accusing, scornful. He knew what he had to do, but his body wouldn't respond. His arm was frozen. His mind spoke again. **YOU CAN'T DO IT, CAN YOU?  
**  
Dumbledore trembled. Seconds dragged on. How long before Voldemort realized that he had won...again? How long did Dumbledore have to rectify his mistake? Not long enough.  
  
**YOU'RE WEAK! YOU WERE ALWAYS WEAK! YOU NEVER COULD DO WHAT IT TOOK!**  
  
Tears gathered in his eyes, spilled down his cheeks in a fluid line, seeping into the age lines that framed his face. He couldn't do it. He had come back to, but he couldn't. How could he? He was—he was still human.

Was he weak?  
  
**YES, YOU ARE!**  
  
But, in that instant, Dumbledore knew he wasn't.

A shout erupted from his throat, a shout so loud that everyone on earth heard it, and knew his pain. This is what he said.  
  
"YOU'RE WRONG!!"  
  
Time stopped, fast forwarded, stretched, as Dumbledore defied the past. A light came from the end of the wand that was so red in color that it almost seemed black. There was nothing Voldemort could possibly do to counter this. So much hate and frustration and tears turned into pure destructive force issued from the greatest wizard of the time could have torn the world apart. But it wasn't the world that Dumbledore had aimed for. It was Harry.  
  
And people on the other side of the globe, for no apparent reason, felt a sadness ripple through the air and complete strangers paused on the streets, looked at each other, and at the sky as if expecting to see something there. There was nothing.  
  
The force of the spell, when it hit Harry, ripped through his physical and mental body in an instant. He was, simply, gone. No ash, no dust, no messy residue; only a puff as the air around filled the space that was suddenly deserted.  
  
Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort existed no more. The Dark Lord, and the Boy that Lived...didn't.  
  
Dumbledore couldn't breathe. He felt his body decay more and more by the second.

He knew what had happened. To cast such a spell, to defy such a force as fate, and to kill what he loved—it had taken too much of his very self. In doing what he did, Dumbledore had crushed part of his mind—the part that shrieked for him to see reason, to stop. One could not live after destroying part of oneself.

But still, he felt an odd peace with himself. He had done the impossible. He had defied, not only time, but himself. He, Dumbledore, had obliterated Tom Riddle. But he had killed Harry to do it...  
  
He grunted as he felt something in his chest spasm. He was being blown away by the sands of time with every instant that passed. He suddenly felt his knees grow weak, and he stumbled backwards. He hit the great pool that used to contain the statues, and he fell in. The charmed water was cool and clear, and it took Dumbledore's frail body and lifted it. Long ago, Dumbledore had promised himself he would die on his feet, and so he would.  
  
And then, quite suddenly, he saw something shimmering in the air above him. It was so beautiful that his most basic instincts told him to stretch out his hand and try and grasp it. It was sparkling...it was green...almost like...  
  
--

When Cornelius Fudge and the rest of the officials came into the room, they found a ruined room with a baby phoenix in one corner, a crying woman pinned down by a statue in another, and in the very center of the room they found the pool. But instead of many statues in it, there was only one. It was a perfect golden statue of the late, great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.  
  
He was standing in the center, with his right hand stretched above his head. It was as if he was reaching for something he could never touch. And in his eyesockets, instead of gold, there were 2 pieces of crystal emerald.   
  
They were green... 


End file.
